


All in the Family—Partners in Crime

by Polly_Lynn



Series: The Heliotrope Series [5]
Category: Castle
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Gen, Married Couple, Parent-Child Relationship, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6784483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She’s only late in her own mind. He’s not expecting her. They’re not expecting her, and that’s the trouble."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Pretty sure this doesn't exist.

There’s really no point in rushing. Kate tells herself that when the horn blares and the tires squeal as she steps out from between cars to cross the street in the middle of the block.The waist-level grill of the SUV is close enough that she feels the heat rolling off it. She raises a hand in apology and gets a middle finger for her trouble, and it's silly, because there's really no point in rushing.

She’s only late in her own mind. He’s not expecting her. _They’re_ not expecting her, and that’s the trouble. It’s what has her dashing around tourists and living the high-risk life of the New York jaywalker. It’s why she smiles and calls out a grateful thank you as she sails by Eduardo when he buzzes her through the building's outer doors and saves her the trouble of fishing out her keys. It’s why she takes the stairs, because they’re not expecting her, but she’d really planned on being home by now. 

She’s as quiet as she can be in the hallway. The days have been chaos lately, and the last thing she wants is to add to it. She turns the key in the lock and braces, but the door opens on to a tranquil scene, not exactly neat, but quiet, and it's unexpected enough that she has a telling instant of panic. She thinks they're gone. That there’s really something wrong, or worse, this isn't her life at all. It gives way to confusion as she spies movement on the couch. A surprising red head turning toward her in surprise.

"Katherine! You're home." 

An instant later, a dark head pops up over the back of the couch, accompanied by a sleepy voice that matches Martha's lilt exactly. "Mama! Du home.”

 

* * *

 

"She's much better," Martha runs a sure hand lightly down Madeleine's back as she clings to Kate. "Aren't you, darling?"

"I _not_ detter," the little girl insists, her lusty shout giving lie to the words. Her face crumples, though, and her voice drops to a whisper as she buries her cheek against her mother's neck. "Daddy not detter."

"Castle?" Kate peers over theunruly curls at Martha, not really needing confirmation. “I _knew_ he'd caught it. He said he was fine. . ."

"He said the same thing to me, right before he collapsed on to the bed.” Martha falls back into the couch cushions with a dramatic flair that draws a throaty chuckle from Madeleine. 

“CLAPSE!” she echoes, drawing back only to let herself fall forward again with bruising force on to Kate’s rib cage. “Daddy CLAPSE!” 

“He did, sweetie.” Kate tightens the arm around her waist, trying to keep her daughter still long enough to satisfy herself that her skin really is cooler today. Trying to feel like she has some grasp on the state of things. “And he didn’t call Mama.”

“He was about to.”  Martha rests a hand on her shoulder, just briefly, like she can pull the string of knots up and out with the reassurance, and maybe she can. Nearly three years in, it’s not that Kate isn’t grateful for Martha. For Alexis and her own dad and the little army of more-than-willing back-up they have around them. It’s not that at all, and mercifully, the older woman’s touch says she knows that. “But I was dropping off a get-well present for someone.”

“A _present._ ” There’s a part of her that wants to groan. She’s spoiled. Madeleine is _so_ spoiled. And yet, she isn’t. She's generous in her own right and greets every single thing that comes her way with wonder. With delight and absolutely nothing like entitlement. No more now than ever, so Kate ducks her head to whisper in the ear pressed to her chest. “Did Gram bring you a present?” 

“My momo!” Madeleine squirms her way out of her mother’s arms, landing heavily on the floor to turn in a circle. The skirt of her short silk robe flares out smartly. “My _momo!”_

“A kimono!” Kate laughs at the clash of peach and silvery lavender with the red and royal blueof her Spider-Man pajamas peeking out below. “Well you _must_ feel better with a beautiful kimono like that, Mad One.” 

She stops twirling abruptly. A worried look slides quickly across the rosy flush of her face before she presses her lips together and glares at her mother and grandmother in turn. _A Beckett Glare,_ Castle always insists, though her eyes are wide and blue. 

“I _not_ detter.” She shakes her head sadly. She lets her knees go weak and crumples perfectly— _dramatically—_ to the couch again. “I _sick_ ,” she adds, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. 

“Gestures are like accessories, kiddo.” Martha laughs, tugging at the bare toes that drum against her thigh as Madeleine squirms her way across her mother’s lap. “Always leave one behind.”

“It’s a little much,” Kate agrees, though her palm briefly comes to rest on the girl’s chest, relief creeping through her with the easy rise and fall. “Are you sure you’re not a _little_ better?” The dark head rocks vigorously from side to side. "That's too bad. I could use your help taking care of Daddy, but if you're not better, you should probably be tucked up in bed . . ."

"No bed," she protests instantly. A stubborn frown creases her forehead, and that, at least, is one-hundred per cent Castle. "I help." She pats Kate's arm, obstinacy turning to gentle sorrow, and that’s Castle, too. Her tender heartedness. "Daddy sick, Mama. I help.”

 

* * *

 

“I really don’t mind staying a while.” Martha is still protesting. She's been on her way out the door for twenty minutes, and Kate's caught somewhere between tempted and exasperated by it. “I don’t think we made it a quarter of the way through our discussion of Heliotrope’s wardrobe . . .” 

“ _Leelio!”_ Madeleine shrieks. She bounces up on her knees to hang over the back of the couch. “Mama, Leelio got _lots_ momos.” 

“Does she now?” Kate arches an eyebrow at Martha. “Lots of kimonos?” 

"Save _that_ look for your better half, dear," she chuckles. "It was a valiant effort on Richard's part, but I think the fever had set in by the time Heliotrope's kindergarten class headed to Japan."

"Japan?" The bundle of scarves and gloves and dress-up things she's plucked from every possible surface nearly slips from Kate's arms. 

"ISLANS, Mama," Madeleine supplies helpfully from the corner of the couch. She's resting on sufferance until her mother makes some headway on the chaos that the first floor of the loft has devolved into over the course of the last week. "Far, far, _far_ ," she adds, stretching her arms as wide as they'll go to demonstrate. "We go, though." She hunkers back down into her blanket, wriggling with happiness at the thought. "Daddy say. We all go see Leelio and momos and da _car_."

"The car?" 

The echo is as much self-preservation as perplexity. _Japan._ Her knees are weak at the thought of trying to answer an endless barrage of questions about the fish and fowl and furry woodland creatures of a place she's never been. That driving, relentless curiosity is her as much as it is Castle, and still her knees are weak. 

"The car," she says again. She looks to Martha, but her mother-in-law is suddenly all air kisses and urgency. 

"And on _that_ note . . . " 

"Martha!" Her tone is sharp, her voice raised to compete with Madeleine's high-volume, rapid-fire chatter. "What car?"

"Jacquard, Katherine." Martha is entirely too amused as she backs into the hallway. "And that story is _definitely_ Richard's to tell."

"Story?" Another echo. Another stab at self-preservation. The door shuts with an ominous-sounding snick. "Jacquard?" 

"I tell, Mama." Madeleine is bouncing on her knees now, the blanket and rest forgotten. She smooths down the skirts of her kimono and pats the couch next to her, inviting, just like Castle. Exactly like Castle when she purses her lips, impatiently waiting for her mother to sit. "I tell." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She zooms from point to point and place to place. From Heliotrope to herself. From Castle to Martha to Alexis and the increasingly-not-mysterious Jacquard. From Japan to the Sultanate of Brunei to the Grand Duchy of Lichtenstein to the high-up cloud city where their rooftop garden goes to vacation for the winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of maybe four? Don't know. It ends somewhere, but the middle is squirrel-y.

 

Kate settles along the length of the couch, murmuring and laughing in all the right places. She leaves the chaos of the loft to its own devices and runs away with her daughter. With Castle in absentia as Madeleine "tells." 

She zooms from point to point and place to place. From Heliotrope to herself. From Castle to Martha to Alexis and the increasingly-not-mysterious Jacquard. From Japan to the Sultanate of Brunei to the Grand Duchy of Lichtenstein to the high-up cloud city where their rooftop garden goes to vacation for the winter.

"Our fowers come back and a big, big, big pot, and Leelio have her spoon," she pauses, tugging at Kate's fingers. "Mama, how you call that? Big spoon for dirt and fowers? How you call, Mama?"

"A trowel?" She laughs to herself, picturing it. Hearing how he'd paint the scene of Heliotrope, decked out in spotless linen with sunlight slanting just so across her broad-brimmed sunhat and her perfectly coiffed curls."Does Heliotrope have a trowel?"

"Towel!" Madeleine savors the new word, untroubled by the fact of a letter or two gone missing. "An' a hat for da garden and _goves_ for soft hands. But Leelio dig and dig and Dacar pop up and he all _dirty_ Mama." She wriggles her shoulders, sounding delighted by the idea. "He _so_ dirty and Leelio yell. But then she like Dacar, 'cause she not only anymore."

"Not the only what, baby?" Kate can't help herself. She can't help picturing Castle's face. The gathering frown when he's not sure what comes next. The slow bloom of his smile when he knows exactly. She can't help but get drawn in every time.

"ONLY." Madeleine's sharp correction pulls her back to the here and now. She sounds cross. She _looks_ cross as she twists her head up and back as if she can glare her mother into comprehension. "Just Leelio for long, long time an' she _only,_ but Dacar come and Leelio like him, an' she not only anymore."

"Lonely." Kate's heart takes a tumble with the word. "She's not lonely anymore." 

" _Only."_ Madeleine pats her mother's hand with approval. Like she's glad they got that sorted out. "Leelio not only." 

"Good," she says, trying to keep her voice light. Trying to take pleasure in the story. In the warmth of her own breath against the smooth, untroubled brow. "Little girls shouldn't be lonely."

"Too _tight,_ Mama." She squirms away from the kiss. She drums her heels hard enough against Kate's thighs to scatter the sudden, foolish melancholy.  "Too tight," she says again, so stern that Kate has to press her lips together against a laugh, just as sudden. Just as foolish. "You shhh now. I telling."

"I _shhhhhh,"_ she promises. She makes good. 

 

* * *

 

Madeleine goes on telling, and—thank the stars and fluffy bunnies—she wears herself out with it at last. 

"Du tell now, Mama." The words are slow and fuzzed around the edges. The wide blue eyes, so like his, are heavy, and Kate has high hopes for that.

"Me, tell?" She gently coaxes the girl's head back to rest on the ridiculously decadent pile of dupioni silk throw pillows she's managed to gather from the far corners of the first floor. She smooths  her hand down the wide sleeve of the tiny kimono and lets the words come in a slow, quiet sing-song. "Daddy's the teller, baby. You and Daddy are the tellers in _this_ family. But maybe if you closed your eyes . . ."

It's a tactical error. The merest hint of anything nap-related has Madeleine's chin rising swiftly. It has her wide awake and adamant. 

" _Du_ tell now. 'Bout Leelio an' Dacar and ISLANS." 

Kate sighs. There's no point in arguing. "I can't tell about Japan. Or Jacquard. Not yet . . ." 

_Not yet._ The words are an afterthought and more than that, too. They're a surprising little fizz inside that bubbles over into a smile and a catch in her breath. She can't tell about Jacquard, though she has her suspicions. Hopes and desires she's only just getting to know with Madeleine's warm little body curled into her own.

"Not yet, Mad One." She hunkers down, tickling the girl's ear with a stage whisper. "But how about a mystery?" 

"Misty," she repeats, awed by the possibility. "Leelio misty, Mama. Du tell now." 

Kate begins, tentative at first. Uncertain, like always, because she's out of her element, and then she isn't, and that's like always, too. 

Madeleine's eyes are wide, even though she's beyond tired. Her voice is hushed as she asks a hundred questions: 

_Den what?_

_Oh,_ _den what, Mama?_

She asks about the color of things and if it was cold in the place where the pink bunny got lost. Because it's a story about a pink bunny and Heliotrope and a curious puppy who's always noticing things. It's a story about an underground library and a fancy dress party with butterfly wings and top hats and canes and capes that dance by themselves. It's a story about everything and nothing, and she goes on telling it long after the wide blue eyes drop closed. 

She goes on telling it, under her breath, as she climbs the stairs and manages to slip Madeleine's arms from the sleeves of her kimono and tuck her into the crib, all without waking her. She goes on dreaming it up right down the stairs and across the living room. Her head is full ofdetails, and she's on her way to nowhere in particular. She's following gossamer threads of the story as they spin out to the sides. She goes on telling right up to the moment she walks into his body as he staggers out of the dark of the bedroom. 

"Kate. Heard you." He winces with the effort of being upright. Of even those few words. "That late?"

"No," she says as she turns him right around. She guides him with sure steps back to the bed and somehow props him up as she sets the tangle of blankets to rights. She settles him back in and there's hardly any more fight in him than there was in Madeleine. An accusing flicker of blue that loses out to the weight of eyelids she coaxes closed with a brush of her fingers. "Not late." 

"But you're home?" He just manages the question. Just manages to close his hand around hers. 

She leans in to kiss his forehead. Thinks about everything that needs doing while the two of them are asleep, but the pull of this quiet moment–the chance to be present—is too strong. The susurration of Madeleine's breathing over the monitor, and she lets her body go. Surrenders to stillness and the quiet tug. 

"I'm home," she whispers, settling at his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH. That is all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes before too long. An all-but-recovered, not-quite-3-year-old sees to that, even though Kate vaults from the bed and sprints for the stairs the very second the monitor crackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chunk of nothing.

He wakes before too long. An all-but-recovered, not-quite-3-year-old sees to that, even though Kate vaults from the bed and sprints for the stairs the very second the monitor crackles. 

"Daddy sick." Madeleine's face is a pale, worried moon peering through the bars of the crib. "I _help._ " She reaches up. A non-negotiable demand to be lifted out. "I sick, too. _Not_ detter. But I help." 

"Yes, you can help, Mad One." Kate hoists her up high first, then brings her in close, conspiratorial as they make their way downstairs. "Can you help by being quiet so Daddy can sleep a little more?"

"Daddy not sleep." She shrieks with laughter. She turns in her mother's arms, nearly upending them both on the last step as she gestures to the late afternoon light slanting in through the windows. "It daytime." 

She's loose, then. Stronger than Kate was prepared for. Taller as she hits the floor, and so much more a not-so-little girl than the baby she still thinks of. The tiny thing, contented and furious by turns, that she'd swear they only just brought home from the hospital, and here she is, practically in flight. 

"It daytime, Daddy." Her voice drops to a stage whisper. She skids to a stop, confused and more than a little upset by the near-black of the bedroom with its tightly drawn blinds. 

Kate hurries in on her heels, clinging to some faint hope of damage control, but he's already pushing himself up to sit. He's already snapping on the bedside lamp and opening his arms. 

"It _is_ daytime." His words are a low rasp that has to hurt. He's racked with chills, and the tight lines around his mouth make it clear that every inch of his body aches. "It's daytime and I've got my two best girls with me." He frowns as something strikes him. "Two. My mother . . ." 

"Gram!" Madeleine shouts. "Gram a best girl, too." 

"Gram _is_ a best girl," Kate agrees. She sinks on to her side of the bed, trying to absorb a little of the dangerous energy crackling all around the girl after too many days cooped up sick. "She stayed with you and brought you a _present_." 

Her blue eyes go wide. She looks down at herself. At the blue-and-red expanse of her Spider-Man pajamas. 

"My _momo_ ," she breathes. "Mama, where it go?!" 

"Bear's taking good care of it upstairs." 

Madeleine is off like a shot. She clambers over Castle’s legs and makes a beeline for the door. Something strikes her before she makes it any further, though. She whirls dramatically to face the two of them.

"Mama. Momos _not_ for sleeping." Her face is serious. Pointed. 

"Not for sleeping." Castle agrees, trying not to laugh at the angle she's working. He drops his voice and looks to Kate. “Kimono law. I saw the Kanji on the wall when my mother walked in with that box." He turns his attention back to Madeleine. "What else are kimonos not for, little miss? What does Heliotrope say?" 

"Not for school. Not even school on islans," she says, not happy about it in the least. "Not for outside. Only home." She's flat out scowling now, then all of a sudden, she brightens. She darts back to the foot of the bed and wriggles her way up between them. "An' _sleep_ over. Leelio have momos for sleepover." 

"Sleepovers? We're grown up enough for sleepovers now?" Kate arches an eyebrow. But if he's got the good grace to blush, she can't tell, what with the unhealthy flush in his cheeks. And if he has any excuse for himself, it's lost in Madeleine's chatter. 

"I have sleepover. Les an' Gram sometimes." She looks triumphant. "I have my momo den. For sleepover not home."

"Sleepover with Gram and Alexis?" He shoots Kate a meaning look. A smoldering look that's ridiculous, given the shape he's in, and still, it curls her toes. "Well, you can definitely pack your kimono for that." 

"No sleepover today, though." Kate reaches out to run a rueful hand through his hair. He's burning up. Sweating, even though his skin is tight with goosebumps. It brings her back to herself. Back to the chaos just beyond the bookshelves and the day stretching out ahead. "Today you said you'd help me take care of Daddy." 

"You're going to help, Mad One?" He presses his hands to his heart. She nods, delighted when he finds the energy somewhere to lift her not-so-tiny body over his knees. He sets her on her feet. "You definitely need a kimono if you're going to help. Run and ask Bear for it." She's a red-and-blue blur. "You come right back, though." 

The effort to call out after her takes it out of him. He goes limp back against the pillows. Back against the headboard, and Kate's at a loss. 

"I'm sorry," she says, and it's comprehensive. It's defeated and it can't be. She's the last man standing. "I sent Martha home, and then I got her down for a little bit." She gestures to the feet pounding overhead. To the chaos just beyond the bookshelves and thinks about everything she hasn't accomplished. "I should've . . ." 

"You came home." He turns into her. He lets himself be heavy against her shoulder. "You can just do that, huh? Cushy job." He grins up at her, but he's worried. A little worried, at least, that he's not keeping up his end of the bargain. 

"Perks of being the boss." She presses her lips to the too-warm skin at his temple. "I meant to be home sooner." 

"Home now," he murmurs. "Now's good."

* * *

 

It _is_ good. The three of them are good. Madeleine sits up in the big bed and fusses over him. She makes him lie down with a drenched washcloth on his forehead. She tells him stories, huge and fanciful and disjointed. 

Kate listens through the bookcases as she straightens up. She finds a dozen excuses to check on the two of them, even though they're fine.  

"What did Heliotrope wear to the fancy dress party?" she hears him ask as she lingers in the office slotting books away. 

"Purpo," she says instantly. It's always purple. "Purpo momo an' a mask. Scary doctor bird."

"A kimono and a plague mask?"

 _That_ pulls her right out of hiding. Right to the doorway. "Plague mask?" 

"Scary, Mama. For germs." Madeleine claps her hands over her mouth, demonstrating. "Daddy show me pictures inna _big_ book." 

"Pictures in a big book. Did he now?"

"It's been a long week." He coughs, and she tries to remember that it's only a little for show. "She's been out of school . . ." 

"Yes." She crosses her arms. Can't resist giving him a little bit of shit for it, even if he's been boots on the ground all week and he's paying for it now.  "And we wouldn't want her to miss the preschool unit on the Black Death."

"Actually, the Black Death refers to the 14th century outbreak. The iconic masks are from . . ." He breaks off as his mind catches up with his mouth. "Anyway. Scary doctor bird. With a purple kimono? It's a bold fashion choice." He shifts quickly back to the story. He lowers his voice dramatically, trying to enlist Madeleine as an ally. "Then what, Mad One? Did Heliotrope interrogate the hostess with cunningly double-edged small talk?" 

"No," she says sharply. It's a surprise the way she turns inward. The way her face screws up and then her eyes go wide. "Dacar 'terrorgate. Dacar help Leelio at fancy party, Daddy, but Mama not know how to tell about Dacar." 

She's excited, tugging at the covers and practically kneeing him in the head. 

"Jacquard." He reaches out, trying to settle her, but his eyes shift off to the side. To Kate and then definitely _not_ to Kate. To nowhere in particular. "Right. Mama wouldn't know about Jacquard. I bet you told her, though, didn't you?" 

"Oh, she did. She told me all about the big pots on the roof that little boys grow in." Kate gives him an arch look as she lounges against the door frame, but he meets it with a knowing smile. A question that's a little breathless, and she's not sure why she's the one who feels caught here. Not sure why she smiles back anyway and keeps on telling. "She told me about his race car bed and his lounging jacket rotation. Oh, and his collection of ascots." 

"Scarfs! Leelio give them for present." Madeleine looks proud of herself, and Kate wonders if it's a detail she's just remembered or a new invention. "When Dacar come live with Leelio. She give him SCOTS for present. Cause when Dacar come, Leelio not only." 

"Only?" 

He asks by reflex, just to keep the story going. To buy time, but Kate feels his gaze land on her. She feels her heart take a familiar tumble. That little fizz again, and she sees him see it. Sees his eyes light up with curiosity, because she's his favorite story to tell. The three of them are his favorite story. 

"Lonely," she says, and the word hangs in the air. "She's not lonely anymore." 

"Oh. Lonely," he says. Something passes over his face, too quick for Kate to understand, and then he's wrapping an arm around Madeleine's waist. He's pulling her in and settling her. He's whispering. "Then what, you?" He presses his lips to her dark head. "Then what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll be a while before any more goes up. Not exactly action packed, so I hope people don't mind over-much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate tackles the chaos. She takes stock of the kitchen and medicine cabinet and the rest of it while Castle quiets Madeleine with stories and games she probably won't fall for much longer. She’s growing so quickly, a not-so-little lump when they pull the covers up and pin them behind the pillows for a make-shift tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Sorry for the delay and also. Ugh.

Kate tackles the chaos. She takes stock of the kitchen and medicine cabinet and the rest of it while Castle quiets Madeleine with stories and games she probably won't fall for much longer. She’s growing so quickly, a not-so-little lump when they pull the covers up and pin them behind the pillows for a make-shift tent. 

And she’s _funny_. She’s clever and ridiculous and the two of them range far and wide together. They spiral off on tangents, and when they come back to Heliotrope and Jacquard and _Then what,_ she’s adamant and silly and serious and _so_ like him that it makes Kate’s heart hurt one minute and has her laughing out loud the next.

“Bear _not_ silly,” she hears Madeleine insist. 

There’s an all-too-familiar stubborn note in that makes Kate hold her breath. It pulls her closer to them in her already not-very-wide orbit and makes her stand ready, but Castle pushes back.

“With that bowtie?” he scoffs. “Bear is _definitely_ the silliest stuffy.” 

“He _not_.” Kate’s knuckles whiten around the edge of the laundry basket, waiting for what seems like an inevitable meltdown, but there’s nothing worse than the shape of a foot—the shape of a shoulder pressing up into the taut expanse of the comforter—as Madeleine sits up. Argues her point. “Bear brave. He go _raaaawwwwwr,_ and alla monsters _scare._ They not come upstairs, they _too scare._ ” 

"So all the monsters are downstairs?" His voice drops low. There's a side-to-side ripple under the covers, like he's scanning the scene. "Uh oh." 

"No monsters _anywhere_." Madeleine pushes up on her knees. She sends pillows tumbling, and the comforter slithers down, leaving them both half uncovered. She spies her mother and shouts. "No monsters, Mama! Bear brave." 

"And silly," Castle adds, nudging the girl's side and making her giggle as he flashes a tired grin at Kate. 

"Brave _and_ silly." Kate blinks, surprised to find how close she's drifted. How they've drawn her in. She shifts the basket from one hip to the other. Leans over and kisses them both. Her, then him, right on the forehead.  "Sounds about right."

* * *

 

The day wears on like that. Kate sets the house in order, more or less. A little less than she'd planned, but a rumpled, murmuring kind of peace settles over everything, and she doesn't mind. It doesn't seem important when the two of them need her. Or they don't, but they call out for her anyway. When a villain needs a name or they can’t decide what it is that Heliotrope finds when she opens the old apothecary chest. 

“So where is this apothecary chest?” She asks from her knees. There’s a bright plastic cup just peeking out from underneath the bedside chair. “And should impeccably dressed little girls be poking around in it?” 

“Leelio _not_ a little girl. She ‘tective. Like _Batman!_ ” 

“And like Mama, when she’s not cleaning up after us.” 

"Mama not 'tective." Madeleine’s face appears over the edge of the bed just as Kate goes on her belly after yet another cup and a handful of books, big and small. "Mama Captain!" 

"I stand corrected, Mad One."  The top of Castle’s head pops into view. He curls an arm around Madeleine’s shoulders and gives Kate an apologetic smile. “We’re going to stay on the big bed, remember?”

“Big bed.” The frame creaks, and the mattress dips with the force of her enthusiastic compliance. “Mama on the big bed, too.” 

“Mama _under_ the big bed.” He pulls her into his lap. Into a bear hug that’s no real match for how wound up she is at the moment. “Let’s not bring it down on her head, ok?” 

“Mama _on,_ not _under._ ” She slaps at the mattress with open palms. "Clues for Leelio. Need Mama to tell what's in the lotsa doors." 

"We do need her, don't we?" The bed shifts ominously as Castle shifts again  and peels up the overhanging duvet to peer down at Kate. "Paging Captain Beckett to the big bed."

"Castle . . ." She laughs up at him as she scoots backward on her knees, her arms overflowing with the contents of her lost and found. "I really should . . ."

"You really should come tell with us." He whisks the duvet high and lets it flop over Madeleine's head, much to the little girl's delight. "Didn't you hear? You're indispensable." 

"Mama you 'spensble," Madeleine shrieks in agreement as she bursts out from under the covers. 

" 'Spensble, huh?" Kate hauls herself on to the mattress, one knee at a time. She lets every cup and book and what have you fall where it may. 

"Absolutely." Castle pulls her close. He tucks Madeleine in between them and shivers in spite of the shared warmth. "One-hundred percent 'spensble." 

* * *

Afternoon bleeds into evening. They leave the Heliotrope mystery on a cliffhanger. The daring, impeccably dressed sleuth has found a cut-crystal vial filled with what looks to be powdered sugar. She's found a remarkable-looking fishing lure inside the apothecary chest and a lace handkerchief and the pink bunny's long-lost cousin, Hubert. The curious puppy shows up again just as Jacquard dips his finger in the vial, and it's not powdered sugar, apparently. 

"And Dacar gone." Madeleine whispers—actually whispers for once—and makes a gesture with her hands. _Poof!_

“Gone?” Kate winces at her own volume. Winces at Castle stirring when he’s only just managed to drift off, but it's a plot twist she never saw coming. A plot twist that battens down her ribs  uncomfortably tight. “Where to?” she asks more quietly, tugging Madeleine closer to her own body. “Where did Jacquard go, Baby?” 

“Leelio not know.” Madeleine raises her eyebrows in an exaggerated gesture that makes Kate smile hard enough to hide her face in her daughter's hair. “Dat next part.”  

"Scene," Castle mutters as he flops on his side, dipping the mattress and making all three of them tumble together. "Chapter. Whatever." 

"Humph. Storytellers." Kate gives them both an exaggerated frown, then mouths _sorry_ to him. 

"No sorry." He reaches for her shoulder and misses, pitching forward and barely recovering before he's face first in the pillow. "I might . . . shower?" He doesn't sound convinced. "If my best girls can handle things without me for a while." He tugs at the sash of Madeleine's kimono. "You'll be good for Mama?" 

"I good," she promises. 

"And you'll be good for the Mad One?" He shakes his head like it's hopeless. "You have to watch out for this one," he tells Madeleine. An exaggerated aside worthy of Martha Rodgers.  "She's a handful."

"Hanful." She nods sternly. "Mama you hanful. I watch out." 

"You do that, Baby." She rolls her eyes at Castle, but she's catching him by the sleeve before his feet hit the floor. "You're ok?" 

"Ok," he says. He dips his head to kiss her fingers, then closes his eyes abruptly, swaying though he's still half lying down. "Will be ok. After the power of shower." 

"Daddy walk silly." Madeleine rocks from side to side on her butt, mimicking his none-too-steady gait. 

"Daddy does a lot of things silly," Kate murmurs, more to herself—more to cover her own worry—than anything, but he hears. 

He turns back, with an arch look. "Only because silly is how Mama likes it." 

 

* * *

 

She moves the proceedings to the living room while he's in the shower. It's a mostly futile push back against temptation. She's tired, and the gloom of the bedroom is cozy. She likes the three of them piled up in the big bed and half wishes they could stay there for days. The three of them with nothing more pressing on the agenda than a Heliotrope story to tell. A mystery to solve by flashlight under the covers. 

He's better when he joins them on the couch. A little better, even though he's staggering in. Collapsing nearly on top of them, but it's for show. 

Mostly for show. Her hand smooths across his forehead and finds it warmer than it should be, even with his tendency to crank the hot water up to stun.

"And what are we up to, ladies?" He tips his chin up to kiss the heel of her hand. Gives her a mild shake of the head to show he's fine when he sees her brows drawn together. 

"Naming colors." Kate rattles the magazine, spreading it wide for the three of them to see. "Not entirely to someone's satisfaction," she adds, bumping her knees up and down to jostle her daughter in her lap. 

"Not ALL purpo, Mama," Madeleine says firmly. Immovably in a way that has Kate sticking her tongue out at Castle without even having to check whether he's giving her that familiar, knowing look. "Not same. Not all purpo." 

"Well, this is lighter purple . . ." Kate scowls down at the glossy page, sorry for the first time that she hadn't made enough progress putting the loft to rights to stash the damned thing away earlier.

"Oh, the purple contretemps again." Castle snatches the magazine from her. "We're shaky on orange versus red, but purple is a _thing_ ,"  

"Purpo a THING," Madeleine agrees with a shout. 

He brings the page right up to his face. "This is clearly lavender," he says like he's bored. His finger travels across the page. "Deep violet. And this is raisin . . ." 

"Raisins for EATING," Madeleine roars. "Mama. It _not_ raisin. You tell." Her eyes are bright with sudden, furious tears.     

"For eating?" Kate leans in. She glances at her watch, trying to remember how long it's been since the last illicit snack in the big bed.Trying to remember if he's eaten anything at all since she's been home. "Is the little bear hungry?" 

"I NOT a bear." The words are muffled. Plaintive against Kate's shoulder.  

"Are you sure?" she whispers. "You're being _silly_ enough to be a bear." 

"I BRAVE." The girl lifts her head, sniffing and wiping away her own tears. Composing herself. "Hungry, Mama." She twists on Kate's thighs. Her knee catches Castle hard enough in the gut to chase the breath out of him. "Daddy hungry, too." 

"Two hungry bears.” Kate pushes up from the couch, depositing Madeleine where he can corral her easily. “I’d better feed them so I don’t get eaten up.” 

“Bear not eat Mama up,” Madeleine says swiftly. “Not eat Mama or Daddy or Gram or Les. Only monsters.” 

“It’s true.” Castle gives her a serious nod. Snags her hand in passing and presses a hidden smile to her knuckles that makes her heart pound. “Since the Bear Accords of August, all Castles live free from fear of Bear attacks and monsters. It’s a win–win.” 

“Mama a Beckett.” Madeleine’s face creases with sudden worry. 

“Ah, but she’s a Castle, too,” he says in a stage whisper. 

“And Daddy’s a Beckett.” Kate calls over her shoulder. She shoots him a dirty look, but he meets it with smugness, like she’s just fallen into his trap. 

“Definitely a Beckett,” he says as he scoops Madeleine up and falls back to stretch out, long and lazy on the couch. "Absolutely a Beckett."

“What Leelio?” She squirms in his arms. “Leelio _an_ Dacar.” 

“Both,” Kate says swiftly. Firmly, because it’s ridiculous the way it makes her heart feel full. Bear Accords and imaginary friends and a monster-free home. All of it. “Castle _and_ Beckett.”

“Boat!” Madeleine pats her father’s cheek, like that’s settled. “All missed up!”

“All mixed up,” he agrees, tipping his head back to catch Kate’s eye. To draw a wide smile from her to match his own. “All mixed up together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably just a short epilogue after this. They can't continue on this glucose-elevating binge forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeding hungry Bears is no mean feat, as it turns out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really prepared to post this, or sure I even would, but it is Cora Clavia's birthday, and I have yet to mail the wee gifties I have, so . . .

Feeding hungry Bears is no mean feat, as it turns out. There's wailing. Kate is buzzing from cabinet to cabinet while Castle tries to keep Madeleine corralled in the general area of the couch. It's fine. Ridiculous and adorable in a background sort of way, and then there's sudden, genuine wailing.

"Whoa, Mad One! What's this about?"

He tugs at the sash of her kimono. The move leaves one end trailing and the loops uneven, and it should distract her. It _has_ distracted her, on and off all day as she's studied their hands and pushed them away, intent on learning to tie a bow herself. But there's wailing now, and whatever it is that's upsetting her turns a dangerously articulate not-quite-three-year-old into a sobbing, unintelligible heap.

He moves to push himself up from the couch, but he's fading fast after the brief shower boost. Even that much effort has him sweating and swaying. Kate abandons the kitchen with everything not quite half done. A pan on the stove top and a can of soup she's only started to pop the top off. She nudges him back down in passing and drops to the rug. Madeleine clambers instantly into her lap, clinging heavily around her mother's neck.

"Daddy lets me." She moans over and over. Enough times for Kate to eventually work that much out in between the hitching sobs.

"Daddy lets you what, Baby?" She peers over the dark curls toward Castle, but he's shaking his head, baffled and guilty.

It makes her feel guilty, in turn. It’s not what she meant. He’s just better at this part than she is. More fluent in the language of their daughter's fury and sorrow. More inured to it, really, and that way lies an entirely unproductive guilt spiral. She puts a stop to it. She shoots him a smile of solidarity. A little crazy-eyed, probably, but that's honest enough.

And then she dives in. She brings her mouth close to the little girl's ear. "Gotta use your words, Mad One. You're a Castle, aren't you?" She jogs her knees, lightly bouncing the limp, heavy body. It works sometimes. She's seem him do it. She's seen him tease their daughter out of her sudden, dramatic melancholy, but Madeleine is having none of it.

"I Bec – – –" She stutters and hiccoughs, the truncated word rattling in her chest. She lets her head fall hard enough against Kate's shoulder that Castle winces at the sound of bone on bone. "I a BECKETT," she hollers.

“More Rodgers at the moment,” he mutters.

Kate shoots him what’s meant to be a dirty look, but the whole strange day has been so full of peculiar pleasures that it leaves her weary and warm and grinning. The drama of it all. She laughs instead. She chuckles right into Madeleine's shoulder. "Is that true, Mad One? Are you being a Rodgers?"

"Gram a Rodgers." She sits up, abruptly coherent, even though her nose is streaming and her cheeks are blotchy and tracked with tears. "Gram dee . . ." She scowls, searching for the word. Hauling her mother's chin around when she finds it. "Deeba."

"Gram's a diva?" Kate presses her lips together, barely snatching back the laugh that bubbles up. She manages the dirty look easily this time, but Castle's eyes are wide. He holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. Kate turns back to her daughter. "Did Gram teach you that word?"

Madeleine nods solemnly. "Leelio deeba sometimes. And Gram. But not alla time. An' Leelio 'tective and not baby and I not baby and Daddy lets me stir."

Kate's still parsing the out-of-the-blue litany when Castle is on his feet. Unsteady and somehow absolutely firm at the same time. He plucks Madeleine from her arms.

"No." The word isn't loud. Not in the least, but it brooks no argument. It's forceful enough to make both the Beckett women blink. Both the Castle women. "Daddy does not let you stir anything hot. Remember?" He turns the not-so-tiny body in his arms, nudging the stubborn set of the girl's chin with his knuckles until he's sure he has her attention. "Not until you're much bigger. Because why?"

"'Cause dangerous," Madeleine says solemnly. Instantly and calmly. "I 'member, Daddy."

She leans her head against his shoulder. She traces a scar on the back of his hand. A crescent- moon reminder of a heroic grab for a cookie sheet just barely ahead of curious little hands. The sight makes Kate's throat feel thick. The memory and the simple, present moment. The three of them together and the sheer victory that is over all that was and could have been. It blurs her vision, but it's the two of them to the rescue. Her Castles.

"Mama do dangerous. But I do fishes." She pats his cheek agreeably. "I do fishes after Mama blow on da soup."

"You do fishes."

Kate pushes up from the rug. She slides her arms around the slim little waist and leans a moment against the broad, too-warm expanse of his chest. She tips her head back and steals a sideways kiss, even as she topples him backward on to the couch. He goes down with a grateful oof. She carries Madeleine to the kitchen. To the far side of the high counter and plops her down on a stool.

"Fishes," he murmurs, his eyes half closed. "Mama couldn't possibly do fishes without your help, Mad One."

And it's true. She couldn't possibly.

 

* * *

 

It might be the soup that's easily seventy percent goldfish crackers. It might be the sheer force of Martha's personality or the lingering flu. It might be all of those together, but Madeleine's head is heavy long before her usual bedtime.

"Still sebens, Mama," she says apropos nothing. It's a preemptive strike. Kate hasn't quite gathered the energy, and Castle is on the edge of dozing, but Madeleine has had her own ideas about bed time from the start. "It ony sebens." She screws up her face against a yawn, but the battle's already lost.

"Almost out of sevens, you." Kate trails her fingers down the girl's spine. "There's a five and a six. What comes next?"

"Eights is after sebens. But I sleep nines." She lifts her head defiantly. "I neber sleep till nines."

"Never, huh?" Castle's eyes flick open, but he's on autopilot. He aspires to autopilot. "Sometimes never?"

"Dat not a thing." She's riled enough that her eyes go wide. She sits up dangerously straight. "Neber not sometimes. Always not sometimes. Only sometimes sometimes."

"Only sometimes sometimes," Kate agrees. She tosses a heavy glance Castle's way as she scoops Madeleine from the couch. He ducks, an acknowledgement that he has no one but himself to blame for the girl's tendency to be a linguistic rules lawyer, especially when bedtime is on the line. She moves the two of them in long strides toward the stairs, reveling in the weight and warmth of her daughter's body, oversized as it seems. "And sometimes little girls sleep when they're tired."

"That's not a thing," he calls out. "Sensible little girls who sleep when they're tired. Not a thing."

His voice is faint enough that Kate makes an executive decision. She turns back, even though she knows the window when she might actually get Madeleine settled enough to stay in the crib is narrowing rapidly. She perches on the strip of couch left vacant by the sprawl of his body. She rests a hand on his cheek and leans over him, keeping a tight hold on Madeleine. "Ok, Mad One. Kisses down here. Daddy needs to go to bed."

"No kisses. My stories. Daddy tell." She stretches her arms out and pulls a pitiful face. She tries to pitch her voice into a desperate whine, but she's tired. They're all tired. "Dacar gone, Mama, an' Leelio scare and not know . . ."

"Jacquard _is_ gone, Mama." He gives Kate a wry smile. A shake of the head to show he's up to it, but when he reaches for the tiny fingers, he doesn't quite make it on the first try. "I can do one quick . . . " he protests anyway, but the promise is lost in a fit of ragged coughing.

Madeleine shrinks back against Kate's body. "Daddy not detter, Mama," she whispers. "Daddy sick."

"Daddy's very sick." Kate curls an arm around her. She lays her free hand against his back as he turns his face against her hip. She winces at the rumble of his lungs as he doubles over, trying to get the cough under control. "Sick like you were, Mad One."

"She wasn't this bad." He raises his head, quick to reassure her. Equally quick to curse under his breath as he realizes he's outed himself. But he looks at her, steady on, knowing it for the lesser of two evils as far as either of them is concerned. "Promise."

"She wasn't." Kate nods briskly, accepting it. Pushing away the guilt that will gnaw at her if she gives it half a chance. "And she's better now, right, you? Better enough to give kisses down here and let Mama do stories just this once?"

"I little detter." She looks too solemn for her years and a little sly at the same time. "Not all detter, but Mama tell 'bout Dacar? Leelio need a find him." Her furrowed brow is pitiful this time. Genuinely pitiful.

Castle's own brow creases like he wants to argue, and Kate knows what he'd say if he had the energy. That it'll take twice as long. That Madeleine will wheedle, and she'll win. They'll all end up heaped together in the big bed or somewhere, because against all reason, he's made of sterner stuff than Kate is when it comes to that.

"I know." She leans on closer and kisses the frown where it settles on the bridge of his nose. "I know, I know, I know. But you should go to bed."

"I should go to bed," he admits. He peers at her through heavy eyelids. "Tuck me in?"

"Tuck me in, Mama." Madeleine's takes Kate's face in both hands. "Stories and tuck. Den Daddy."

He pouts. Enormously, because he's still him. He's her writer and her partner and a parent who surprises her every day. But he's also a giant baby when he's sick and more than occasionally greedy for her time and attention, even when it's ridiculous.

"You da big kid, Daddy," Madeleine scolds. "You know detter."

"Should know better," he admits. He burrows further into the couch pillows, sulking more than a little. "Stories first."

"Stories and tuck." She laughs and kisses her daughter's palm. "Mad One, then Daddy."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this to be the last chapter, but a brief epilogue, eventually, I guess?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Is that a personal best?” The croak of his voice startles her in the near-total dark of the bedroom.

“Is that a personal best?” The croak of his voice startles her in the near-total dark of the bedroom. 

“Two-and-a-half times as long as it takes you on a bad day? Probably." She sinks to the edge of the bed. "You're not asleep." 

"There were promises of 'tucking in'." He flops to his back and light falls from the office across his face. He's leering, or trying to. His hand finds her thigh. His eyes fly open wide, then fall shut. He grins hugely. Goofily. "You're silky." 

“Negotiations started before we even hit the stairs. Momos are now absolutely required for stories, apparently." She twirls the sash of the robe she'd had to dig through an abandoned basket of clean laundry for. She lashes him across the chest. "Your daughter is a rules lawyer." 

 _"My_ daughter?" he sputters, indignation bringing on another coughing fit. She shifts, ready to go . . . get him something. _Do_ something, but he stills her with a palm sliding into hers as his breathing settles into a mild wheeze, then smoothes out. "I'll cop to a lot of things, Cop Lady, but rules lawyering? That's all you."

"All my mom." The correction comes quickly. It comes quietly, with eyes downcast. 

"It is?" His thumb taps at the back of her hand. His legs shift under the mountain of blankes, a ripple of not-quite-suppressed eagerness that comes through in motion. It always does when this particular door cracks open. "I always think your dad, when she digs in like that. But . . .  not really your dad.” He rolls his head to swipe a sideways kiss across her knuckles, pondering a minute. “Your mom?” 

“Yeah,” she says, finally, and it's an effort. An act of will. 

She swings her legs up on to the bed. She slithers down on to her side and holds on to him. Stays insistently close when he gathers himself to try to make room. It’s easier when he’s too close to see. When it’s dark and they’re twined together. It's easier, even if it does feel like cheating, somehow.  

She spreads her fingers wide over his ribs and presses her cheek to his chest to feel the thump of his heart, calmer than her own right now. It’s hard for her, even after all this time. This story that only she can tell—that she _wants_ to tell. It’s harder than ever in too many ways, and she loves him for the silence he gives her. For the wide open space he leaves for her to tell or not to tell in the near-total dark. 

“She’s . . . charming,” she says. A halting start that draws a huff of laughter from him. One she cuts short with the flat of her palm to his shoulder. “Even when she’s impossible and she’s wearing you down, she’s just this . . . charming little monster, and you want her to win.”

“You do. Even when it’s you she’s scamming, you do.” She can feel the smile as it rearranges his features. The slightly shamefaced pride that comes and goes. She feels his breath catch, drawing his ribs taut beneath her cheek as it's replaced by something else. Curiosity. Uncertainty. Hesitation before he gently asks. “Your mom was like that?”

She nods, nothing more than that at first. He'll leave it there if she does. If she decides to leave it there, he will too, she knows. But she thinks of Madeleine. The way she drinks in the details of who's who. The sensation of a small, determined body slamming into her legs one not so long ago day and wide eyes looking up.  

 _Mama! Gram_ Daddy's _Mama! Du know Gram_ DADDY’s _Mama?_

She thinks of the nights she's woken to Castle's voice, low over the monitor as he soothes their daughter back to sleep. The back-and-forth chat about where everyone is, real and imaginary. Who everyone is to her. Who they all are to one another and where their adventures might take them. 

She thinks of the times she’s slipped from their bed through the living room to the stairs. The times she's rocked in the nursery's corner chair, totally overwhelmed, with her arms and her heart full, only to have him slip in and sink to the floor. Only to rest his head on her knee, trail his fingers along the rise and fall of Madeleine's spine.

 _A quick one._ That's what he whispers on nights when she simply won't go down. _One quick story, Mad One._

She thinks of the tales they tell. How vast the cast of characters is in Heliotrope's world is and hHow thinly veiled versions of everyone pop up here and there and everywhere. Alexis. Javi and Kevin and the little Ryans. Martha and her own Dad. She thinks, and then she stops thinking. 

She lets the story come to her. _A_ story. A quick one. 

“I went to work with her. I remember this one time.” 

The first words come almost on top of one another. She feels his breath catch. Feels him waiting, but she stalls out, then. She sifts through the details. The fussy, button-up blouse she’d worn, even though she hated it. _Hated_ it, but she thought it made her look older. More grown-up. She moves her fingers, remembering the satisfying _click_ of the latches on her mother’s briefcase and how important she felt when she got to carry it up in the elevator and down the halls. 

“I was nine or so. Just a deposition, and . . . I don’t know . . . maybe it was Take Your Daughter to Work Day or something, and I didn’t really want to go. And it was _so_ boring.” 

She draws in a deep breath, as if she's still stuck in the room’s heavy, stale air. She hears the buzz of the overhead fluorescents blending with the drone of the opposing counsel. She writhes a little, disconnected. Misplaced guilt works its way through her, as though she should have known better back then. As though she should've had the foresight to cherish every instant with her mother, but she shakes it off. She presses into the eager warmth of his body and gets on with the story. 

"Boring," she says again. She turns her head to swipe a kiss across his jaw. It's a lesson learned from him. How to take up the thread of the story like he would, aches, pains, and all. She presses a grateful smile to his ribs.  “And then it was Mom’s turn. And she was amazing. She was just relentless and _smart,_ and it was like no one knew what hit them. She just didn't miss a single beat. And they _thanked_ her." 

She smiles hard against the solid wall of his chest. Remembers tugging on her mother's sleeve and asking if they weren't the bad guys. Remembers her mom's laugh, and her heart kicks hard as the story spills out. "The guy she was questioning, his lawyer . . . she got exactly what she wanted out of the whole thing and they all thanked her.”

“She’s definitely like your mom, then," he murmurs. " _Exactly_ like your mom."

He lets the silence fall. It's a thank you from him to her. One that outlasts the flush that takes up residence on her cheeks and the racing pulse that's still tethered to that feeling of exposure when it comes to this. Her mother. Even with him, it feels like giving something precious away. Even with Madeleine, and she has to get over that. She _wants_ to get over it. 

" _Only,_ " she blurts. It's loud and strained and breathy and too many terrible things all at once. "Is she? Do you think she is?"  

"Only." He repeats it back. She can't see the grin on his face. Not in the dark, but she knows it. Smug and narrow-eyed. Yeah, she knows it. "Oh, she _got_ you." 

"Me?" She thumps his ribs, low enough to drive the breath out of him, and harder than she means to. A _little_ harder. "Like she didn't get you."

"Of course she got _me._ " He tightens his arms around her, half pinning her, half sheltering himself. "I'm the soft touch, Beckett. She _always_ gets me. But if she got you, we're doomed."

He's teasing. He's trying to make light, but she pushes back against it. It's wrong. It's suddenly all wrong. 

"Don't," she says, her voice sharp enough to surprise them both. "Don't put it on me." 

"Put it on you?" He scoffing. Playing at first, and trying to mollify her, even if he doesn’t know why, but then he goes quiet all at once. He goes absolutely still, and the air turns thick."Kate. I'm not.  I wouldn't, but . . . there's no 'it' to put . . . " He trails off, confused. He’s tired and sick and irrepressibly excited all the same, and she realizes they’re in the thick of it. The conversation she definitely wasn't planning, and here it is, and they are _so_ doomed. “Kate. There isn’t an ‘it,' is there?" 

"No!" She's all but shouting. It's ridiculous, but she's struggling suddenly. She's drawing into her own body, defensive and annoyed with their sideways approach to this, and it's mostly her. Mostly, but not all, and still she feels like the worst kind of brat. "Of course there's no it!"

"Sorry," he says quickly. She feels the bed dip. The rise and fall as he scrubs a hand over his face. "No it. That's good." His voice finishes flat. It's studiously neutral in the end, and that's wrong, too. It's messed up. 

"Are you . . . disappointed?" She wriggles on to her side. She faces him, sort of. She still can't see a thing in the near dark, and everything feels strange. Everything feels _urgent,_ even though he's sick and they're both exhausted _._ "Oh my God, Castle! Were you hoping?"

The last little bit comes with another thump. Her fist, his ribs, and a decidedly solid thump, because he's laughing now. He's _amused_ at how stupid they are. How stupid they’re being, and she's not at all. 

"I wasn't," he says, trying for solemn. For self-preservation. "I was absolutely not hoping for an unexpected 'it'." He swallows down another chuckle as he scoots downtown align himself with her, head to toe. "Absolutely." He presses feverish lips to her cheek. "Definitely." He punctuates it with another kiss. With his breath fanning over her ear and his cheek burrowing into the crook of her neck, setting off sparks. "Not hoping for unexpected."  

"But you were . . ." She pushes feebly at him. Tries to open some distance between their bodies and misses the contact right away. "You _are_ hoping. For expected?" 

He sobers immediately. He brushes the hair back off her forehead. Tries to peer right into her eyes, but it's impossible in the dark. "Kate?" 

"It would be crazy, right?" The simple sound of her name runs along some kind of fuse inside her. The words come tumbling out. "Another one? When we're exhausted all the time, and you hardly ever have time to write, and _I_ feel guilty when I can't be here, and I worry . . ." She chokes up. Swallows hard against tears gathering high in her throat. "The job. Even though I'm behind a desk most of the time now,  I worry every single day about . . . about _leaving_ her. Leaving _you_. . ." 

"You're not leaving." He cuts her off, rough voiced and insistent. 

_That’s what my mom said._

She doesn’t say it out loud. The memories slam into her. Her own voice at three. At five. At twelve, and her mother’s long, elegant fingers stroking through her hair. Her voice. _I’m not leaving, Katie._ It all slams into her, and the one mercy is she doesn’t say it out loud. 

“I know,” he says anyway. He peppers her skin with kisses. “Kate, I know, I know, I know.” He holds her until it passes. Until the wave crashes over them both. His voice is tired when he speaks again. “But you’re always afraid.” He corrects himself correct. “One is. Editorial you. A parent. Kate. Whether you’re a cop, or a circus clown, or you make marshmallows or you . . .” 

“Work at home in your underwear?” She tucks her fingers under the elastic at his waist. Tries to lighten the mood and isn’t exactly proud of it.

“When one can keep them on.” He meets her half way. He squirms against the invasion and smiles against her cheek. “But I mean it. It’s _terrifying_ to think about not being there . . .” 

“See?” She stares hard at the dark. She swallows against the lump in her throat. Against terror and longing and whatever else is trying to work its way up. “Crazy.” 

“And wonderful.” The words are a while in coming, and his voice small when they do. Small and unlike him, but open. Earnest. “Isn’t it? For you?” 

“For me?” She’s aghast. She draws back. “Castle. For me? It’s _amazing_ for me. But I’m not the one living with the flu and the calls from school and the drama getting _out_ to school and . . .” 

“And _I’m_ not the one who had her kicking me in the kidneys and the ribs and the lungs for forty weeks,” he snaps. He’s angry. _Angry,_ and it’s enough to startle her. 

“But that’s . . . there’s an end to that,” she protests. 

“Do you think it's not amazing for me?” He ignores her. He goes on fiercely enough to set the the congestion in his chest rumbling.  “No. I mean it. Don’t you know, Kate?” He lapses into a hacking, rattling bout of coughing. She moves to quiet him, but he holds her off. He rides it out and starts again, exhausted but determined. “It's exhausting. _She’s_ exhausting.” He lifts a hand toward the door. Toward the upstairs, then lets it fall to cup her cheek. “It’s endless and filthy and _hard,_ but do you think it's not a joy to do this with you?”

“With me?” 

She blushes at the question. The way it sounds like she’s fishing, but it’s news to her. It’s a revelation that shocks her right down to her toes.

“With you, dum dum.” 

He says it in a stage whisper. The insult that’s on a long list of forbidden words. because they’re trying to raise a nice kid. A bold, inventive, curious, _kind_ kid, and they are. Together, they _are_ , and it’s a revelation. 

“Let’s do it again.” It’s a stage whisper of her own. A hushed, awed, laughing, shivering thing, even as she’s pushing him away. Even as she’s tucking him in and clambering out of bed to tackle the million things that need doing. “Later, Castle.” She kisses him. She fends him off and presses him back into the pillows. “When you’re not half dead.” She trails the silk sash of her robe along the strip of skin laid bare as he tips his chin upward in supplication. “Let’s do it all over again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And . . . FINALLY FINISHED. This is my (rather pathetic) first entry for Thing A Month—I'm going to try to post at least one thing per month this year. January has been terrible, and it got away from me.

**Author's Note:**

> Not posting this at FF.net. Almost certainly shouldn't post this here, and I don't even know how long it is (3–4 chapters, maybe?). Totally dumb, but oh well.


End file.
